5km vs 10km

This essay is part of a small Foundations series on how I think about swimming.

There is a quiet hierarchy in open water swimming.

It’s rarely stated outright, but it’s easy to sense.

Longer swims are treated as more serious.
Farther distances carry more weight.
Certain numbers signal commitment, toughness, legitimacy.

Five kilometers is good.
Ten kilometers is better.
Fourteen kilometers means something else entirely.

Over time, those distances stop being measurements and start becoming identities.

When distance becomes shorthand

I’ve noticed how quickly distance replaces language.

Instead of talking about how a swim felt or what it required, we talk about how far it was. Instead of describing conditions, preparation, or recovery, we lead with a number.

Distance becomes shorthand for effort.
For experience.
For credibility.

I’ve done this myself — introducing swims by their length even when that number didn’t capture what actually mattered about the day.

It’s efficient. And it quietly reinforces the idea that farther means better.

What distance can’t tell you

Distance doesn’t tell you:

how the water felt
how the conditions shifted
how your body responded
how present or distracted you were
how much effort it actually took
how you persevered that day

A five-kilometer swim in difficult conditions can demand far more than a smooth ten in calm water. Some swims are shorter and harder than they look. Others are longer, steadier, and surprisingly uncomplicated.

But those differences don’t show up in a headline number.

So we default to the metric that’s easiest to compare.

The pressure to move “up”

Once distance starts to feel like identity, it points in one direction.

There’s an implied next step:

from 2km to 5km
from 5km to 10km
from 10km to something longer

Staying where you are can start to feel like stagnation. Returning to a shorter distance can feel like regression — even when it’s intentional, appropriate, or exactly what your body needs.

I’ve felt that pressure myself.

Last year, my longest race was 14km. That number sounds impressive. It still carries weight when I say it out loud.

This year, I’m planning to focus on 5km races.

On paper, that looks like a step back. It’s easy to hear the quiet question underneath it: Why less?

But that question only makes sense if distance is treated as a ladder.

Distance is not a ladder

There’s nothing inherently wrong with longer swims. I love them. I’m drawn to them for reasons that have little to do with status.

But distance is not a ladder you climb toward legitimacy.

It’s a variable.
One dimension among many.

Right now, choosing 5km means less cumulative strain on my shoulders while I work on correcting my stroke. It means fewer four-plus-hour swims and more margin for recovery. It means space for strength work, for technique, and — frankly — for family life.

None of that makes the choice smaller.

It makes it honest.

Five kilometers isn’t a lesser version of ten. Ten kilometers isn’t a more evolved form of five. They’re simply different experiences, asking for different kinds of attention, preparation, and recovery.

Long swims aren’t delegitimized by this. They’re just no longer treated as proof of seriousness. Some may not even be the best choice for my body — and I still value them for the challenge, the sense of accomplishment, and for showing my daughter that we can get scared and still do hard things.

Treating distance as hierarchical flattens what makes each swim distinct.

Letting go of comparison

When I stop using distance as a proxy for worth, something shifts.

I become more honest about what I want from a swim.
I choose distances based on adventure and curiosity — not optics.
I stop measuring myself against an imaginary progression chart.

Swimming becomes about the relationship again, not the résumé.

Final thoughts

Five kilometers and ten kilometers are not identities. They’re descriptions.

They don’t tell the full story of a swim, and they don’t determine whether a swim counts. You don’t become more legitimate by moving “up,” and you don’t lose standing by choosing differently.

There is no hierarchy of belonging in the water.

There is only the swim you choose, the conditions you meet, and the way you show up for it.

And that is already enough.

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